Love Sandwiches
by anniepear
Summary: Sabrina Grimm is brazen and sure. Driven yet wild. Innocent yet feisty. Sassy, headstrong, and practically unstoppable. So it's really no surprise when she goes off and messes everything up. In which Peter won't give her a second glance, she keeps accidentally kissing her "just friend," someone won't stop sending her anonymous threats, and one big plan manages to ruin everything.
1. Dancing, Drinking, and Dejection

**(wow I haven't been on this website since 2014…)**

**Ok, first off, I am extremely sorry about my lack of…well… anything on this website for like two months. I am a slum and quite frankly, ridiculous. But hey, new year new you! I will be trying to actually be consistent with my stories on here this year and not just leave you guys hanging.**

**Secondly, thank you all so much for the positive reaction **_**Dark **_**got! I am not done with it, don't worry. And I have plenty of juicy ideas bubbling up in that big (small) brain of mine. Problem is, I'm having a teensy bit of trouble getting those ideas into words in a way that I actually like. Which is why Chapter 12 still isn't existent (and it really should be, because I have a basic idea of where I'm going with the story).**

**Another reason **_**Dark **_**hasn't been updated is, well, this. I've wanted to do a less action based and more romance focused story for a long time, and this story has become that. It's an idea I really love and can't quite let go of, and it's been sitting in my brain nagging me every time I **_**do **_**try to get to writing **_**Dark**_**. So I officially decided to write them both. Hopefully putting this idea into words will help get it out of my head so I can finally put **_**Dark **_**into words too.**

**But don't worry, **_**Dark **_**WILL**** be updated sometime in January, hopefully this weekend. I have promised to myself that I am making it happen. If I don't, feel free to yell at me as much as you wish.**

**Last thing, and this one is ****VERY**** important:**

**THIS STORY IS RATED T FOR MATURE LANGUAGE AND THEMES.**** Meaning cursing, suggestive scenes, alcohol, mature thoughts, etc. Don't read if you can't handle that (and also don't worry, that doesn't mean a porno by any means- it just means this story is for a teenage audience, not five year olds).**

**Ok, that's all I have to say! I'm really excited about this story, and hope you guys like it!**

* * *

**Ch.1: Dancing, Drinking, and Dejection **

I grew up being the oldest child in a house of two immature younger girls, one insane red-head, a set of parents that were often off finding Goldilocks porridge or taking the peas out of princess' beds, a boy who's life purpose was to annoy everyone, and a grandmother who thought that forcing children to eat foods that quite honestly didn't look one bit edible was a good thing.

You'd think I would've had to learn to be the responsible one and that somehow all of the bad decision making going on around me would teach me to be more careful with my own decisions.

Apparently not.

But hey, what's life without a few road bumps? Unless, of course, those road bumps cause a massive car pileup on the interstate of life. Which mine sort of did.

"Grimm, will you _please _get out of the bathroom? I'm going to urinate on myself."

I rolled my eyes. There were more important things here than almost wetting oneself. Like the attempted-charming faces I was making at myself in the mirror that just sort of came across as creepy or rapist-y. Which wasn't exactly what I was aiming for.

I groaned loudly, wanting to run my hands over my eyes, but knowing it would completely ruin my makeup, making me look like a human-sized raccoon. Which, again, wasn't exactly what I was aiming for.

"I want to die," I announced to no one in particular. Puck obviously heard though, because he snickered from the other side of the door.

"That's positive," he said.

"It wasn't meant to be," I continued, watching myself speak in the mirror. Maybe the red lipstick was too much. Or maybe I should calm down a bit with the eyeliner. Or maybe I should've straightened my hair instead of curling it. Or maybe-

As usual, it was Puck who interrupted me. Or at least, my thoughts. "I swear to God Grimm, if I pee myself I am going to burn all of your old Barbie dolls."

I abandoned the mirror for the door, swinging it open to see Puck, who was standing there, looking bored and amused at the same time. "If you so much as _think _about touching those dolls, I will shoot you."

"Then I probably shouldn't tell you what I'm thinking about right now, should I?" he said innocently. I punched him in the arm before stepping back a few feet.

"How do I look? And be honest. I don't want some lame older brother 'you look beautiful sweetie' line or something. I want the cold, hard truth."

He unabashedly let his eyes roam over my body, from top to bottom, and I tried to stand up as straight as possible to pass the Puck Evaluation. Instead of complementing my natural beauty and grace, he made a face.

"Remember when you accidently drank liquor at that high school party a year ago and vomited on yourself and tore your dress on some rose bush or something and then fell in some mud before finally making your way back home?" he said instead. I rolled my eyes. This was not the time for a Remember When game, Puck's favorite way of annoying me.

"Remember when you were at the same party and _purposely_ drank liquor and were singing that 'proud to be an American' song on top of a table and then you fell off and got a bunch of glass shards in your hand and when they tried to bring you to the hospital you called them all sausage casings and they thought you had gotten a concussion or something?"

He grinned widely. "Remember when-" Another punch to his arm stopped him there. I fixed him with a death glare.

"I said be honest! Do I really look like when I ran into that rose bush, fell into the mud, vomited on-"

"No, you don't," he said. "You look great."

Another death glare, and he raised his hands up in defense.

"Really! You do! And that's not even a lame older brother line either."

I crossed my arms, letting out a deep breath. "Are you sure? I feel gross."

"Well, you shouldn't. Now, can I _please _pee?"

I bit my bottom lip, too nervous to step past him down the stairs, where the party was. Where Peter was. Puck seemed to see as much, and he rolled his eyes.

"Pete's going to leave if you don't get your terrified ass down there. And besides, I thought I saw him talking to some girl earlier. If you don't want her taking him…"

"No, I don't," I said abruptly. He smirked.

"Then grow some balls and get down there!"

I gave him a look. "I don't actually think that's physically possible. I mean, I _am_ a girl, and last time I checked-"

"_Sabrina_."

"Fine, fine, I'm going."

"That's the spirit! Go get 'em tiger!" he said, winding back his hand as if to give me an encouraging slap on the rear. I grabbed his wrist before he could. He grinned that shit-eating smirk of his, waiting patiently for my scolding. I was too anxious to get downstairs to even waste my time with it. So I just gave him a last 'could you be any more immature?' glare and then turned to head downstairs.

"Oh, don't forget to hide your kitchen utensils! You know how Noah gets around pointy things and alcohol," he called after me.

Sadly, I did. "Thanks. Have fun relieving yourself."

"I always do."

With that I closed the bathroom door, taking a deep, calming breath. It was ok, it was going to be fine. This was just the moment I had been waiting for for the better of three months now. The moment that I would finally convince Peter Michael Pan that I was a girl deserving of his love. Of his mysterious, dark hazel eyes and sharp, defined jawline. The moment when I would finally secure the boy of my dreams who I knew, I _knew_, was the one.

_The one_.

Even though I was pretty sure he had different feelings. But after this night, he wouldn't be able to ignore me any longer. After this night, the graduation party that _I _hosted, he would know that he needed me as much as I needed him. There would be no denying the inevitable connection between us for any longer. I would show him my beauty, and finesse, and undeniable charm, and-

"Holy shit Grimm, could you just walk down the stairs already?" Puck said loudly from the bathroom. "Or do you just like listening to me pee?"

I stuck a very polite finger at him before realizing he couldn't see it, instead growling a "fuck off" at the door. With that, I squared my shoulders, tossed back my long blonde curls, and walked down the stairs. It was a lot harder to do than usual, when I wasn't wearing daring, tall red heels and a short black dress that, if I wasn't careful, would become very scandalous very quickly.

I managed to actually not be clumsy for once in my life though, and walked successfully all the way down the stairs. Where the party was.

The party.

Even though this was my own house, my stomach immediately balked in fear at the sheer amount of people crammed into the living room alone. I had told Connor (another close friend of Puck and me) that he could invite a few more people. This was not a few more people.

But hey, we had all just graduated high school – we had a right to be free and do what we wanted and go to as many parties as possible. Even if we weren't exactly invited to them, like half of this room. I sucked in a deep breath and stepped into the ocean of bodies. I maneuvered my way through the crowd, getting touched on the butt and accidently touching other people's butts a lot more than I was comfortable with. The faces all seemed to blend together, because I was only in search for one.

Peter.

A hand found my wrist before I could find him.

"Holy shit!" I turned around, recognizing the voice of Cleo even over the obnoxiously loud voices and music surrounding us. I had met Cleo during first grade. We had immediately bonded by choosing to play in the mud with the boys over making flower crowns with the girls and had been best friends ever since. She was wearing a dark red dress with tall silver heels and matching jewelry, tendrils of black hair curled around her face.

"You look drop dead gorgeous!" she shouted over the noise.

I raised an eyebrow. "Don't sound so surprised," I shouted back. She grinned, hooking an arm through mine and using her Cleo-commanding to make the crowd move enough to let us into the kitchen. It was a bit quieter in there, a bit, only because tables blocked the space where people could be standing or talking or dancing. Of course, a few more drinks in, and that would be a different story.

"Have you seen Peter yet?" I asked immediately.

She rolled her eyes, smirking. "You know, when people complement you, you're supposed to complement them back," she said pointedly. I grinned.

"You look especially beautiful tonight Cleo," I said with a curtsy. She fanned herself, acting flustered.

"You're too kind Brina. Really." I slapped her lightly on her exposed shoulder, and she flicked my hand away.

"But really, did you see him?" I asked a moment later. Her smile dropped a bit.

"Yeah, chatting it up with some long-legs brunette I've never talked to before in my life. I think she graduated last year."

"How the hell is she at my party?"

Cleo shrugged, long hair bouncing on her shoulders. "I don't know. Noah?"

I nodded. "Most likely." I would have to remind myself to never invite Noah to a party ever again. And to shun him for life.

"Do you know where he is?" I asked, talking about Peter now, not Noah, although I did need to know where he was so I could squeeze the life out of him.

Cleo gave me a look. "Sabrina, I know this is 'the night' and stuff, but really. What if it doesn't work out? I don't wanna see you waste another year moping about or chasing after him like some deranged cheetah chasing a gazelle or something."

"For the record, I am not anything like a cheetah and Peter is not anything like a gazelle. Whatever that is. And besides, it will work out."

"And if it doesn't?" she said pointedly.

I shrugged loosely. "Then I'll either keep obsessing over him or finally find some way to move on. Like usual."

"Yeah, but we're graduating!"

"And I know for a fact he's not going to college until a year from now. And I'm not going to college any time soon either, remember? My parents are teaching me all I need to know about being a _fairytale detective_ first."

Yeah, because my parents were obsessed with these things called Everafters and apparently it was a family business to be obsessed with them, so for the foreseeable future I would be undergoing training on how to deal with these magical creatures. Which sounded way cooler than normal college but still, it would be nice if I had a choice.

And how great could these Everafters be? One of the only ones I'd ever met was Puck, and the greatest he got was when he scared potential boyfriends away from Daphne or managed to annoy people so much that their faces literally turned purple. A lifetime of studying him wouldn't only be boring, but it would be torture.

And past that, not everyone even knew about them. Cleo, Connor, Noah, Peter, Puck, and a few of the popular crowd did, but the rest of the students at Ferryport High and the residents of the city (or at least as I knew)… well, they didn't have a clue. So when people asked me what my job was or what I was doing instead of going to college, I just had to make up some sort of convincing and cool enough sounding lie to cover up for the fact that I would be studying weird creatures who most humans had no idea existed.

"The point is," I continued, "I have plenty of time. If this doesn't work out, I'll keep trying. I'm a very persistent girl."

"Stubborn," Cleo corrected.

"Headstrong."

"Stupid."

I smirked, before giving her the puppy dog eyes. Eventually, she caved. "Ok, fine. I'll take you to him. But remember your side of the deal, woman."

I saluted. "Scouts honor."

"You were never in girl scouts."

"A girl can dream."

She took me by the wrist, parting the crowd again and walking into the sitting room, an open space connected to both the living room and kitchen. There were less people here, a table full of shots, and in the corner, the object of my desires. He was wearing dark jeans and a nice shirt, laughing at something someone had said. At first, his smile was the only thing I could focus on. Then, I honed in on the girl.

"Is that long-legs brunette?" I asked sourly.

Cleo nodded in disgust beside me. "The one and only."

She was tall, with perfectly tan legs and waist length, straight brown hair. Not to mention a butt that was having trouble staying in her too-short dress.

"What a little fart," I muttered angrily.

"Well, you know what you have to do now! Go break them up!" Cleo said enthusiastically. I froze.

"I can't do that! What would I say? I don't want to look pushy! Or rude! Or-"

"Sabrina. As of this point, not saying anything would do more damage. Because the way things are going, he'll be taking Lady Long Legs home tonight if you don't intervene. And you don't want that, do you?"

"No," I said firmly.

"Exactly. So, what are you waiting for?"

I grimaced. "This nauseating feeling in my stomach to pass."

Cleo put her hands on my shoulders, pushing me forward a bit. "Oh, you'll get over it. And by the way, you owe me a favor for small-talking Peter the entire time you were in the bathroom. He'd be long gone if I hadn't asked him what he thought of the weather so many times."

"You rock."

She patted my arm. "Yeah yeah, I know. Remember your end of the deal though blondie. I expect payment in the form of one extremely hot fairy."

One extremely hot fairy being Puck of course. Cleo's own obsession. As much as she loved to tease me about my puppy dog love for Peter, she had the same exact problem for my housemate. I nodded and winked. "You got it."

And then, with a helpful shove from Cleo, I was stumbling towards Peter, who was still talking to Little Miss Legs-For-Days.

Deep breath.

Relax.

This is just the boy you've pined over all of your four years of high school.

No biggie.

He didn't seem to notice me, and I didn't exactly know how to just barge in, so I decided on following my instincts as an extremely obnoxious person and just jumping right in.

Of course, with a little flair.

"Peter!" I exclaimed loudly, throwing my hands in the air and stepping closer. Both he and the girl turned to look at me, and suddenly I had the distinct feeling of wanting to find the nearest table and hide under it. But instead I stood a bit taller, smiling brightly. My hand instinctively wanted to go in for a friendly nudge on the shoulder. But really, that was the last thing I wanted to come across as. Just a friend. So I settled for just walking up, making sure to put a little extra swing in my step.

Peter's face rearranged itself into a kind smile as the girl beside him continued staring at me. "Sabrina- nice to see you!" His voice saying my name sent shivers down my spine, like always.

"You too! How was your family graduation party?" That's right. I knew he had had a small graduation party with close family just three days ago. I was a smart girl like that.

Or, as Puck would call it, a stalker.

"It was ok. Boring, I guess," he said with a shrug.

I laughed. "You really should've expected that. Nothing like all of the aunts you've never met lining up to squeeze your cheeks."

He laughed too. "Sadly, that was pretty much what the entire thing consisted of."

"Yeah, I have experience in the area of awkwardness."

Which, of course, was an awkward thing to say. Just to prove my point.

"Well, I'm glad I got invited to your party," he said lightly.

"Yeah, me too!"

And maybe it was a dismissal, but like Cleo put it, I was a very stubborn girl. So instead I just stood there, smiling sweetly at the both of them, until Peter eventually caught on.

"Oh, Sabrina, I forgot to introduce you. This is Riley- she graduated last year, if you don't remember."

"No, I don't!" I said in the kindest voice I could muster, giving her a totally fake smile and shaking her hand. She returned the smile.

"Pleasure meeting you, Sabrina!" she said. Then, her head cocked to the side. "I think I actually do remember you from somewhere," she said.

I shrugged. "Oh I don't know. I mean, we went to the same school, but I have an awful memory." Which was a lie- I had an amazing memory. And I did remember Riley. She was a boy-crazy rumor-starting butthead.

Suddenly her face broke into a wide smile as she remembered. "You're... That girl that works at Sandwich Saloon!" she said excitedly. I frowned. Was that what I was known by nowadays?

"Um yes... And also valedictorian of the graduating class," I added helpfully with a sweet-as-honey smile.

"Really? Then why do you work at Sandwich Saloon?" she asked in confusion.

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. I still couldn't see how this girl had the nerve to interrupt me and Peter's obviously compelling conversation. "I work at Sandwich Saloon because I want to and I like sandwiches."

And that's where Cleo worked so we could cause problems together and stuff. And it was the most popular sandwich place in Ferryport so actually paid pretty ok.

She nodded and smiled. "Oh. Gotcha." Then apparently, her brilliant mind connected another puzzle piece. "Oh, so you're the girl who lives here!"

"Yep."

"Which means you live with that boy," she said, and I would've been ok without the knowing tone she threw in there.

"Yeah. Puck."

"The one walking around taking everybody's utensils and hiding them," Peter added helpfully. Riley grinned, giving me a look.

"So, how long have you two been together?" she asked with a wink. I tried my hardest not to groan and strangle her, but might've fit a little eye roll in there.

"We're, um, not together," I said. I could honestly live without all of the people instinctively pairing me and Puck up. He was (along with Cleo) my best friend and quite frankly more of my brother than anything else. Riley's face dropped a bit before her eyebrows furrowed.

"Oh. Are you a- like, a lesbian?"

Jesus Christ this girl was stupid. _No, I am trying to steal Peter away from you Miss Stupid Long Legs, so if you could stop setting me up with other people or thinking I don't even like boys that would be nice. _Of course, I didn't say that.

"No. I like boys. Very much," I said, pointedly looking at Peter. He just smiled. God, did anyone take a hint around here?

"Oh. Well how do you keep your hands off him?" Riley asked. I was a bit too busy staring at Peter in what I hoped was a charming way to really hear her question.

"Wait, my hands off who?"

"Puck of course. If I were you, I would be trying to get laid every night," she said brightly, looking towards the kitchen, where Puck was busy shoving utensils into his pants. He saw us watching and waved at me brightly, gesturing to the forks and knives and then to Noah, who was stumbling around searching people's plates for the utensils Puck was already smart enough to take. I rolled my eyes and massaged my temple.

"As good as that is to know, me and Puck aren't like that. I happen to find it very easy to keep my hands off of him, thank you very much. We're just... We're just friends."

"Puck is almost like her adopted brother," Peter added helpfully.

"And I would never even dream of having any sort of romance with him," I said with a nod.

"He sort of just freeloads off of her family."

"Even the thought of liking him in that way makes me want to barf."

"They've lived together for six years now."

"Like I said, just friends."

Riley looked confused by the two separate conversations going on, and her pretty face scrunched up a bit. That was when Peter turned to me.

"Wait, so you're single?"

"Yep," I said, popping the p. And then he was looking right at me, and Riley faded into the background, as did everything else in oblivion, and it was just me and his big hazel eyes.

"Which means you're available?" he asked, and staring at him was like looking at the sun straight on. So beautiful it was painful.

"Of course," I answered slowly.

His face split into a wide, hopeful grin, and oh my gosh, it was happening, oh my gosh. "Oh, then I was wondering if-"

"Absolutely."

"Excuse me?"

"Um… absolutely. To your question. I already know what you're going to ask." I giggled a bit at the end, feeling a warm swoop of happiness swell inside me. He looked relieved, like a weight had been removed from his shoulders, and wow, was he really that nervous to ask me out? How sweet. It was almost like-

"Thanks so much. I mean, James has been feeling really bad lately, and I was hoping I could find someone to cheer him up."

My fanaticizing came to an abrupt halt. "Wait, what?" I said dumbly.

"James. My best friend. You know, Puck's friend. The one with brown hair."

I knew James, not like I knew Connor and Noah of course, but I had seen him around and at parties. He was one of Puck's friends who hadn't gone to our school, so it wasn't my fault I barely ever saw him and talked to him even less.

"What about him?" I said slowly. Peter gave me a weird look.

"I assumed you knew. I mean, you did know I was asking about him… right?"

No. "Yeah, of course!"

Peter spoke as if he was talking to a five year old. "Then you must know that his girlfriend dumped him a week ago and he's been really down ever since and you just agreed to sweet talk him up for me. Right?"

My body collapsed with an internal sigh. What a piece of shit this entire conversation had become. "Yeah, of course. That's why I said absolutely. What else would I think you were talking about?"

He laughed, and I echoed the noise nervously, and then we both sorta stood there.

"Well, again, it was nice seeing you. James should be over sulking on the couch. Maybe you can convince him Charlotte wasn't the only girl for him."

"I'll try my hardest," I said. Hopefully my voice didn't sound as depressed as the rest of me felt. He gave me a warm smile as an obvious goodbye, and so, instead of making things worse, I just left. The music playing didn't sound nearly as encouraging and bright as it had earlier as I trudged to the kitchen. I grabbed a glass, filled it up with the nearest alcohol, and took a deep, long gulp.

Sure, technically I was underage, but technically so was most of everyone here. And I knew I couldn't exactly throw a graduation party without some form of alcohol. It was practically impossible- at least for my grade. And while it was here, I might as well make use of it.

I chugged down another gulp, not thinking about what I was doing, and as the tingling filled my body, decided that love just wasn't for me.

*.*.*

Four hours of way too much drinking and way too much staring longingly at Peter and way too much crazy dancing later, everyone was gone. Besides me and Puck, who were left with a trashed house and what were shaping up to be head-pounding hangovers for the next day (although I'm pretty sure I was way more drunk then him – or he was just really good at hiding it).

I sat on the counter, swinging my legs, wondering idly why some apples were green and others were red and why Peter seemed to hate me so much and exactly how far I could lean forward before falling off of the edge. Puck was beside me, scrubbing some unappreciated Sharpie graffiti someone left on the fridge.

"Who draws butts on a fridge with gold Sharpies? No one does that!" he complained loudly, putting as much pressure on the cloth as he could, dragging it dutifully over the fridge door.

"I think those are boobs," I said helpfully, giggling slightly at the word. Boobs.

Puck stopped his scrubbing to squint closer at the three pairs of boobs/butts drawn on the fridge – two small and one big.

"Definitely butts."

"How would you know? I have more experience in the area of boob."

"Just because you have them doesn't mean you have more experience," he said suggestively. I kicked him, or rather tried to kick him, but I missed his back by three feet and instead just swung at the air. I furrowed my eyebrows. That didn't seem quite right.

"Whatever it was, it needs to get off the fridge pronto. If this stuff is permanent the Old Lady's gonna blow a fuse."

"What does that mean again?" I asked slowly. It sounded like blowing bubbles, and I didn't get why Granny Relda would blow bubbles if she saw the boob/butts.

He looked over at me, really studying me for the first time. "It means to get mad." Then he arched one eyebrow. "Wow. You're really drunk, aren't you?"

I did a half curtsy for him, which was hard while sitting down. "Excellent deduction."

For some reason, that made him laugh. "And you look like a mess too. If you saw your hair right now, you'd have a cow. Not to mention what I think is a ketchup stain on your dress."

"Or blood," I said idly.

"Actually, I wouldn't even doubt it right now. You look like you could've committed murder."

I groaned loudly, putting my face in my hands. "You're supposed to be making me feel better!"

"Why? Do you feel bad?" he asked, going back to scrubbing. Vaguely I thought how weird it was- usually I was the responsible one and he was the one being stupid. I guess this is what I got for having one too many glasses of tequila.

"Of course I feel bad! Peter didn't even notice me besides trying to set me up with his mopey dude friend!" I said into my palms. Then, my head shot up. "Did you see him leave?" I asked.

He didn't answer, instead looking intently at the boob/butts as he kept scrubbing them.

"Puck Robin Goodfellow. Did you see him leave?"

"Maybe."

"And was he with somebody?"

It took three swings to actually hit him with my foot. He sighed and turned around. "Alright, yes."

"Did she have ridiculously long legs and an ass that wouldn't stay in her dress?"

"I wasn't exactly staring at them but from what I do remember, yes."

I growled, glaring at a point in the distance that represented Riley Legs-For-Days. "What a little shit-face."

Puck shrugged. "Not her fault Peter likes her."

I slapped him on the arm. "How could you say that? And besides, you were supposed to watch out for me- to have my back! How could you just let him _walk out with another girl_?"

"I was a bit busy trying to keep Noah away from all sharp objects while making sure Connor didn't start a fight with some dude for accidently knocking over one of our vases!"

"You're not even sorry!" I whined.

"Fine. I'm sorry," he said, not sounding at all apologetic. Quite frankly, I couldn't really blame him. He was probably about done with my four year obsession with Peter.

"Peter's never gonna notice me," I said dejectedly.

Puck rolled his eyes. "As long as you have all the necessary girl parts, I'm pretty sure any guy would notice you."

"I don't want some random guy! I want _him_."

"Stop being so picky! You could seriously choose any boy in this city and he'd probably have no problem dating you!"

"That's because all of the boys just throw themselves at girls!"

"Exactly! That's my point. They'd all be completely willing to throw themselves at _you _too!"

"You wouldn't though," I pointed out.

He groaned. "If I were someone else I probably would."

"Oh yeah?" I challenged.

"Yeah. If I were another boy, I would make you forget Peter faster than you could say shit nuggets."

"I highly doubt it."

"I don't."

"Oh really?"

"Really."

Our voices had gotten really low, and before I knew what was going on our faces were inches apart, and his hot breath was on my lips, and I had a sudden urge to bridge the distance between us, to touch him in ways I had never even _dreamed _abouttouching him before.

And through the thick haze of alcohol, the warm, tingly numbness, my mind kicked into gear and began screaming at me: awkward, bad, Puck, kiss, not good, back away, pull away, bad idea, bad idea. But the rest of me thought it was actually a good idea, a very good idea, and so my body acted on its own, leaning a bit closer, eyes slowly drifting closed. He smelled like cologne and something musty, and just a bit further and our lips would be touching, and then-

It was my phone that ended up saving the day. A sudden rumbling buzz erupted in my bra, and I jumped backwards, screaming a bit because _holy shit there's a volcano in my breast_.

Then I remembered that my phone was in my bra, and that the vibrating was just me getting a text. A momentary relief washed over me because my womanhood wasn't exploding after all. And then I realized what had been about to happen before my phone buzzed. And then I realized _I was about to kiss Puck_.

"Were we just-"

"About to-"

"What the-"

"Fuck."

We just sort of stared at each other, his expression a mixture of confusion and shock and embarrassment that turned his face red. Judging by the heat in my cheeks, my face looked similar.

"I'm drunk," I said, raising my hands in defense.

"I'm slightly less drunk," he added.

"That was an accident," I continued.

"And weird."

Silence again, and the stupid intoxicated part of me couldn't help but thinking he looked kinda cute flustered.

"Let's forget that ever happened," I said firmly, to both him and intoxicated me.

"Agreed," he said with a vigorous head nod. We both stared at each other for a bit, and then he coughed awkwardly and turned back to wiping down the fridge. I groaned loudly.

"This isn't gonna make things weird, right? That wasn't even me doing that. That was my drunk alter ego. Real me would never even think of kissing you. Peter sorta takes up that special category all on his own."

"Just forget it ever happened. Things that didn't actually happen can't make things weird, right?"

"Exactly."

Another silence, and then my phone buzzed again, reminding me that someone was texting me.

"You should get that," Puck said, turning around from where he was wiping the sink and smirking at the light coming from my bra.

"Yeah, no kidding." Before I left I gave him a last look, attempting to be serious. "Never happened."

"Ever."

"You didn't see anything."

"Right."

His smirk widened, and I felt my own lips twitch, and then we were both laughing, because honestly we were freaking out over nothing. Puck would never see me in that way, I would never see him in that way, and that was just how things were meant to be. One almost drunken kiss wasn't going to change that.

Right?

"Ok, let me go answer my anonymous breaxter."

"Breaxter?"

"Breast texter. I thought it was clever."

"Not really."

"Thanks Pez."

I glared at him before turning and walking out, calling a last, "And they're definitely boobs!" over my shoulder.

"Butts!" he yelled after me. I rolled my eyes and grinned. And to think I could ever have feelings for the moron.

It wasn't until I was in the bathroom, staring at an assortment of makeup removers, that I decided to check my phone. I pulled it out of my bra, unlocking it and opening my messages. There were three new texts.

One from Cleo that read: "did you do the thing and if not, STILL REMEMBER YOUR END OF THE DEAL." Followed by two gun emoji's. That was Cleo for you.

A second from my mom that read: "Hope you and Puck are being safe and aren't burning the house down. See you in two days! XOXO Mom".

Two days. We had to have this place cleaned up in two days so my parents wouldn't find out about our little party.

Great.

And then the third one. I cocked my head at the screen, not sure if I was reading right. It was a text from a number labeled NUMBER WITHHELD. Which I guess was pretty self-explanatory: whoever was texting me was blocking their number. Didn't want me to know who they were.

My first thought was Noah, because he was known to do stupid things like that, but then I opened up the text. It was two sentences long and fairly simple.

"Happy graduation Grimm. I advise you to prepare yourself."

And wow did that sound ominous. Probably some spam number though, or a stupid prank or something. So I just turned off the phone and put it on the counter, getting ready for the long process of removing my makeup without burning my eyes out.

If only I knew how many problems that night, that almost kiss, that text, would cause. And if only I had been smart enough to just avoid planning that stupid party in the first place. Oh well. Like I said before, I was never good with decisions.

This wasn't any different.

* * *

**Ok, so first chapter done! Like I already said, this one is going to focus more on romance, and some nice old fashioned love triangle action, which should be awesome. Although don't worry, there's some nice mystery and action in there too… hehehe.**

**As always, I live off of reviews- they make my day. So if you're feeling good, leave one! If you're not feeling good… leave one anyway. And then at least **_**I'll **_**feel good!**

**Oh, and I'm doing the preview thing for this story too, but instead of exerts like in **_**Dark**_**, I'll do a little hint of the next chapter. Tell me which way you prefer!**

**Until next time my rad readers- oh and HAPPY NEW YEAR!**

**-anniepear**

**Chapter 2…**

In which Sabrina discovers getting drunk isn't all that fun, Puck can actually be terrifying, and social media is no longer her friend.


	2. A Little (big) Problem

**Alright, so this took pathetically long to update. My sincerest apologies.**

**Same with dark but *insert celebration* I'm just about finished with chapter 12 for it and will be updating super soon! Progress is sweet my friends.**

**And also, on the topic of Dark….**

**MY GOODNESS YOU ALL ARE SO NICE I CANT BELIEVE I WAS EVEN IN THAT COMPETITION LET ALONE ONE OF THE TOP 3! You are seriously the best story-readers ever, and I appreciate you all, and I am (again) sooooooo sorry for the ridiculousness that is my updating speed.**

**But again, thanks.**

**Ok, I don't really have anything else to say, besides that a few people reviewed about the cursing situation in this story. I'm extremely sorry, but as I stated in the previous author's note, language is a part of this story, and with the character's being the age they are (eighteen-ish), it doesn't feel right that they **_**wouldn't **_**curse. Super sorry again to anyone who doesn't like it, but the cursing is staying. Look at it this way – they're just words!**

**Ok, without any further ado (or no further ado… I don't know which one is correct), here is chapter two!**

**Ch.2: A Little (big) Problem**

* * *

Puke. It was my first coherent thought the next morning: the undeniable fact that I needed to throw up. I shifted in bed, willing away the ominous rolling in my stomach, but as I turned on my side it hit me with a new burning vengeance.

Shit.

I pulled myself out of bed, falling flat faced on the floor, tangled up in my sheets. It took a minute to claw my way out of them, and then (in a very dignified way, mind you) I crawled over to the bathroom, clutched the edge of the cold toilet seat, and threw up some not too great tasting or smelling stuff into the toilet.

And that was my morning. Pleasant, I know. As if things could get any better, all signs of light or even the most minuscule noises made a barrage of bombs go off in my head. Not to mention it felt like an earthquake was splitting my skull even without either of those things.

Moral of the story: don't drink.

I rested my head against the rim of the toilet for a few minutes, because it was cold and at the moment I really didn't care that it was a toilet and got far too close to poop for my liking. It was steady and soothed my pounding head, so it would just have to do.

That was, until someone very rudely decided to knock down my door with their fist.

"Shut up!" I screamed at the unwelcome knocking.

"Are you decent in there?" Puck's voice answered.

"No! I'm hurling! Go away!" I shouted back. Evidently he didn't find me intimidating enough, because the next thing I knew I heard the door creaking open, the sound like a razor peeling away my brain, and then I became aware of someone in my room. I heard a snicker.

"Had some trouble getting out of bed?"

I didn't leave the toilet, instead raising my hand and pointing a not so nice finger at him. I heard him laugh.

"Honestly, it looks like you had a fight to the death with your bed. What did I tell you about getting mad at inanimate objects?"

"Fuck everything."

His footsteps marked his approach. And then he gagged. "Geez Grimm, have a bit of decency! You could at least flush the barf away!"

"Too tired," I moaned.

"Well I'm not doing it."

"You're such an ass! Can't you see I'm in pain?"

"Oh please. You're not crippled. Now get up and flush that puke- it's a good start for the rest of the day."

I blanched at that. "What do you mean, rest of the day?"

I could practically feel his evil smirk. "In case you don't remember, you have some very pressing work at the Sandwich Saloon today."

"Ugh," was my response. My brain connected only these things: I was tired, I had to go to work, Puck was making me go to work, Puck was horrible. So it was no surprise when I reached back, hitting him in the calf.

"How come you're all chipper and bright and I'm over here in living hell?" I snapped, unreasonably irritated that he seemed perfectly fine while I was rolling in a healthy mixture of self-pity and self-loathing. He smirked at me. The expression made my head hurt.

"Because, where I have experience in drinking, you have none. In other words, I'm better at being drunk then you."

"That's not fair," I whined, putting my head back in my arms.

"I'm sorry I'm the superior being," he said innocently. I groaned again. For a few blissful moments, he let me sit there. Of course, that was only for about six seconds.

"Time to get up Barfing Ugly," he said.

"That's some sort of sick twist on Sleeping Beauty isn't it?"

"At least you're still smart," he joked.

"Asshole," I muttered.

"That wasn't very nice."

"You're not very nice."

"Oh stop being such a wimp dogface. Come on." With that, he wrapped his hands under my armpits, heaving me up easily. I probably smelled like barf and sweat and alcohol. He said as much.

"Holy turds you reek."

"Thanks," I mumbled. He placed me standing up, keeping hold of my forearm to steady me as he reached over and flushed the toilet.

"Ok, here's the plan. You go shower and get dressed then meet me downstairs and I'll drive you to work because you obviously can't walk or drive there in this state. Got it?"

"Or I force you to go to work for me while I sit here and lounge in my own filth," I countered.

"Or I tell your parents you were drunk and show them the videos of last night."

I felt myself tense up. "What videos?"

He just smiled sweetly in response. "Puck, I remember practically nothing from yesterday night, so if you have any humiliating videos of me I swear to God I am going to rip you apart limb by limb and feed you to Elvis," I said in my most intimidating voice.

He smiled cheekily. "Would you singing _Just The Way You Are _to a potted plant while trying to stick a pen up your nose qualify as humiliating?"

I lurched forwards, as if to hit him, but he just backed away, leaving me stumbling without his body as a balance.

"Shower, or else," he said, knowing he was in control and looking very smug about it. I glared at him, and then shoved the door in his face and locked it. I turned on the shower, undressing as I muttered very bad things about him.

"Love you Sab!"

"Fuck off."

I heard him snicker and walk away. So I stepped into the warm shower, letting it soak the gross feeling off of me. I was slowly starting to remember stuff from the night before. I remembered Puck hiding forks. Remembered a stupid girl named Riley stealing Peter away from me. Remembered finding that kid James in the crowd and passing out on his shoulder for a bit. Remembered dancing (not very appropriately if my brain was working correctly) to some Beyoncé song. Remembered almost kissing Puck.

I frowned as the smooth, hot drops traced silkily over my body, thinking back to the conversation before the accidental almost kiss. Was it true that boys just threw themselves at any girl within a five kilometer radius? If that was the case, why didn't Peter like me? If that was the case, why wasn't Peter throwing himself at _me_? Because here was the undeniable truth: I had known him for four years and he had never shown anything even resembling interest in me. So, that left the other undeniable truth: something must be wrong with me.

And that got me thinking. Why hadn't Puck and I ever had an attraction to each other? If boys just threw themselves at people then why hadn't he thrown himself at me? Was I really _that _undesirable? Is that why Puck and I had never become something more, even though I'd known him for six years?

Now don't get me wrong, I didn't want Puck to like me. We were friends, close friends, and I was pretty sure nothing would change that. But here was the problem: Puck was something of a scoundrel. I had lived with him for six years- I could attest to that, trust me. The girls he brought home some days, for 'study dates,' or 'pool parties' or 'just to chill,' ranged over the entire spectrum of girlhood. It didn't make sense to me. He had grown up with strict parents most of his life, then alone in the forest believing all girls had cooties, then with my overprotective grandmother and possibly even more overprotective parents. So I had absolutely no idea where he got his play-boy charm from.

But charm he had, and he wielded it with expertise- especially when it came to the opposite sex. They dropped for him in a way that I found insanely annoying, although I really didn't have a lot of room to talk, trailing after Peter like a lost puppy. I often wondered how he did it. Whether it was his appearance (which, let's be honest, was undeniably attractive), or his charm, or the fact that he practically oozed confidence most days, I didn't really now. He just had _it_. That factor that automatically drew people nearer. And he had no problem using it either. Combine it with a flash of his dimples or one of his trademark smirks, and he could have any girl he wanted falling at his knees.

And that's where I got confused. Because not once, _not once_, had he used that charm on me. As a joke and to manipulate me yes, but never in a romantic way. Sure, I didn't expect everyone to like me, but he was the boy who literally had liked _every single girl in Ferryport _at least once- so it was sorta disheartening to be the one girl that he had never even been remotely interested in.

Add that to the fact that Peter considered me a nothing too, and the headache causing a ruckus in my skull, and this day was shaping up to be horrible.

I finished my shower, stepping out and spending a few minutes doodling in the fogged up mirror. Then I changed into a loose, plain T-shirt and jean shorts, tying my damp hair back with a bandana. I felt considerably better without who knows how much alcohol sloshing around in my stomach, so I decided to actually go downstairs and head to work instead of locking myself in my room and pretending like I was sick or something.

I hopped (slowly- I didn't feel that good yet) down the stairs, and the first thing that hit me was the smell. Sure, it still stank vaguely of greasy food and cheap perfume and alcohol, but over that… was that cooking bacon? And waffles?

I rounded the corner into the kitchen, one eyebrow already raised. "Are you… cooking breakfast?"

Puck was standing over the stove, one pan sizzling with bacon in his hand and our toaster full of four frozen waffles. He gave me a look. "No, I just do this for fun sometimes and then throw out all the food. You should try it."

I walked up and punched him in the arm. "Unnecessary sarcasm is not appreciated in the morning."

"Neither is ugliness, and yet I deal with you."

I punched him again. "Insults are also not appreciated in the morning."

"Could you stop punching me? I'm trying to be nice for once," he said, giving me an irritated glance, tongue sticking out slightly as he concentrated way too intently on gently flipping each strand of bacon.

"Sorry Iron Chef Puck. I'll be at the counter, trying not to bother your cooking genius."

"Thank you," he breathed in relief as he flipped the last piece of bacon. I smirked. Seven minutes later saw us both at the table, eating bacon and waffles and sipping orange juice with no pulp. It was surprisingly good, besides the burnt section of my waffle and the one piece of bacon I had that was way too soggy for its own good. I flopped it on my plate, back and forth, until Puck got fed up and ate it for me.

"That was the best piece of bacon ever. You were missing out," he said with a pointed glare.

"Sorry I'm so picky," I said with an eye roll. Then all of a sudden my musings from the shower came back. "Are you picky?"

He scoffed. "You've seen me eat the Old Lady's food for six years now. Do you really think I'm picky?"

"No, but like, with girls," I said meekly, playing with the last bit of waffle on my plate. I could feel him giving me a weird look. Meek wasn't my usual attitude.

"You act like you don't know me at all!" he said after making sure I was being serious. "Really, do I need to recount every girl I've quote on quote _dated _for the past four years or so? I mean, I could try, but the list would be long. Like really long. Like if you were to take a football field, and then the planet Jupiter, and combine them with-"

"Ok, Puck, I get it," I snapped.

"Well I'm sorry for answering your question," he replied irritably.

"Well I'm sorry for asking!"

There was short silence, and then I sighed. "I was just… I mean, no one likes me! Peter doesn't, you don't-"

He laughed. "Whoa whoa whoa, I don't want all your hangover hormone-y emotional problems right now."

"Stop being such a dick and just listen!" I ran a hand over my face. "I mean, is there something wrong with me? Literally, no one is attracted to me. No one. Even you, who likes everyone, doesn't like me. Am I too ugly? Because I will go and, I don't know, get surgery or something, and-"

He raised his hands up. "Slow down Grimm. I think you're taking this way too far."

"Am I?"

"Um, yes. First of all, I'm pretty sure half the population of our high school was attracted to you this year. Just saying. And I don't like you because you're like my sister. My friend. I don't… I don't see you in that way. But that doesn't mean you're messed up or ugly or anything!"

"Are you sure?" I said skeptically.

"Yeah. I'll be the first to say it, you're pretty easy on the eyes."

I smiled down at my plate. "Go ahead, keep complementing me," I joked. He rolled his eyes before standing up.

"Come on, let's get your hungover ass to work."

I stood up too, in a much better mood than I had been in just thirty minutes ago. "Hey Puck?"

He turned to me, eyebrows raised expectantly.

"Thanks."

He rolled his eyes, gagging. "Ugh, sappiness. It's disgusting."

I laughed. "Gee, aren't you a sweetie?" He winked suggestively at me, and so I made him put up my dishes.

I slipped on the closest pair of shoes by the front door (my favorite Keds- for once things were going right) and then walked over to the car parked in the driveway. The sun seemed to burn my eyes, and I blinked a few times before my brain sluggishly adjusted to the brightness.

Today was going to be a long day.

"My head hurts," I complained as I climbed quite ungracefully into the car. Puck was right behind me, wearing his customary tight jeans and a black T-shirt, smirking at my pain.

"Well then it's a good thing that I'm so kind as to drive you to work."

He gave me a meaningful look. I sighed loudly, knowing what that look meant.

"Let me guess. You're only driving me so that I owe you a favor and you can call on that favor at the worst possible moment."

"Nailed it Grimm. Nailed it."

"Sometimes I really hate you," I moaned as he backed out of the driveway, putting my head in my hands.

"All the time I really hate you," he chirped back. I finished the conversation by pulling out my phone, searching for hangover cures on Pinterest as Puck sang loudly along to whatever the newest rap song was called_. _That is, until my phone vibrated in my hands, announcing a new text.

I opened it up. It was from Cleo. And it wasn't what I expected.

"GO CHECK TWITTER. NOW." Followed by four freaking out face emoji's.

I scrunched up my eyebrows, opening up the app on my phone. What, had they started spreading that rumor that I had adult diapers again? Because I didn't. Puck had told me to buy them while I was at the store for some 'experiment,' and it was just my luck that a girl from my class had seen me with them.

Stupid Puck.

Then, my twitter opened. At first, it was just the usual nonsense.

"Cat got killed today. Lol looks like that nine lives thing isn't true after all."

"Just ate a bug. #baddayproblems"

"Why isn't Beyoncé queen already? Like really, why?"

The next tweet froze my heart. "Anyone else see the video of sabgrimm totally wasted at her party? #priceless". It was from someone in my graduating class- a Mr. Colin Tardor.

Oh holy mother-fucking shit.

But that wasn't all. They kept coming, filling up a good bit of my twitter feed- all people I knew, some I had literally only talked to once or twice, who had seen some video of me last night. That was the one problem with Ferryport Landing. It was such a small city that any local news was not only quickly figured out by everyone, but it was exploded out of proportion. When you were the most out-of-the-way city in New York, you sorta stopped caring about celebrity gossip and focused more on gossip that mattered – the gossip about each other that constantly circulated throughout the town.

And right now, it seemed like that gossip was me. Go figure.

" sabgrimm lightweight much?"

" sabgrimm that party rocked last night! looks like it rocked a little too hard for some people though… lol"

"#perfectdrunkvideos sabgrimm"

And all of them had links to a video. After I had successfully made myself sick enough scrolling through the tweets, I clicked on the link. It pulled up YouTube, and as I sat there, gnawing my thumbnail, I had never hated slow internet more in my life.

I barely noticed the car stopping at a red light. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Puck's head turn to me. "Shit Grimm you look like you're about to hurl. Or give childbirth. Or hurl while giving childbirth," he said. I didn't respond. Four seconds later, and the video had loaded.

It was three minutes long and undeniably of me- random clips from the night, things I didn't even remember doing. Chugging tequila straight from the bottle. Yelling out random science terms. Breakdancing on the kitchen table. Trying to start a fire with two sticks from who knows where. Running around with a pizza duct taped to my face. Singing to potted plants. My heart sank with the taste of bile and thrown up alcohol.

"Fuck," I muttered, already feeling that hangover headache coming back with a vicious pounding. It felt like someone had taken my lungs, run them over twice, and then put them back in me and told me to try to breathe. It didn't work. My brain couldn't exactly do anything either, and I just sort of sat there staring at my phone. Pretty pathetic, but in all honesty, wouldn't you be doing the same in this position?

I stared out my window in a daze of sorts as the car slowly pulled up beside the Sandwich Saloon building. The radio was still blaring some song about chains. Puck was still humming along horribly. Everything seemed normal, except for the paralyzing flood washing over me.

From my side, I saw Puck drumming away on the steering wheel before glancing at me, no doubt wondering while I was still just sitting their silently when I should've been getting out the car. I could just make out a not-so-subtle eyebrow raise on his part before he turned towards me. "Watcha looking at Grimm?"

"I don't… I-"

He snatched the phone from my hand before I could do anything. I was still too shell-shocked to even stop him as he played the video.

I sat there, still letting the complete horror totally sink in, and I listened to the sound of my destroyed reputation playing from my side. Three minutes later, and the sound abruptly cut off. The car was quiet for a total of five seconds before Puck looked up at me. And laughed.

_And fucking laughed_.

"Whoa Grimm, you're screwed," he said afterwards, shaking his head pityingly. "Once your parents see this, you're gonna be banned to your room for life or something."

I glared daggers at him, suddenly irrationally mad as all of the emotion came back in one fell swoop. "Puck, this isn't funny!" Then, something in my mind clicked. "Wait, you said you had videos of me. Did anyone else take videos?"

He shrugged, passing me back the phone, obviously not realizing the gravity of the situation. My parents would undoubtedly figure out about this, and then they would hate me, no doubt ground me for life, and I would be forever known as the Grimm child who humiliated herself and her family into hiding.

Puck shrugged. "I didn't see anyone else. Everyone was sort of busy doing their own thing."

It took him a few seconds to realize what the question meant. "Wait. You can't _possibly _be thinking I uploaded those videos?" he asked, voice a weird mixture of emotions. Namely anger.

I narrowed my eyes. "Puck, you were the only one who took videos- who else would've?"

"How can you even say that?" he snapped.

"I don't know Puck - everything sorta points to you right now!"

"Then why isn't it posted under my YouTube account name, huh?" he said smugly, crossing his arms in satisfaction.

I rolled my eyes, looking down at the phone. And froze. If I was suspicious before, now I was furious. Because it was. It was posted under his YouTube account, the video labeled with a neat little username, pucksaboysname. I looked up at him, and his face went slack.

"That's not possible! Grimm, I didn't post those videos! Why the hell would I?"

"Oh I don't know, because it seems to be your purpose in life to annoy people and ruin their lives!" I returned, voice rising with anger.

"What the fuck? You honestly trust me that little?"

"You don't exactly give me much reason to trust you! In case you didn't notice, you call yourself the _Trickster King_. This is right up your alley!"

"Yeah, but I'm not a dick! I wouldn't do that to you- you know I wouldn't!"

I gave him my best glare. "Apparently, I don't."

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wanted to take them back. Because even if he _did _post the videos (which I was starting to doubt, what with his reaction), I knew I had just crossed a line. He pursed his lips, eyes blazing. I'd seen him mad before, yes. But this was different. He was looking at me like I was the most offensive thing on this planet, like I was the worst human that ever existed.

I opened my mouth to try and say something, anything, to mend the situation. Nothing came out. Puck shot me a dry smile, eyes alive with a burning anger.

"You know what- fuck you," he said sharply . Then he quite promptly threw open the door of his car and walked out. I sat there, trying to control my breathing, until he circled around and yanked open my door too. "Out you go, your majesty," he said, voice sickly sweet with anger. I tried to look mad, but it didn't really work.

I scooted out, and he slammed the door behind me, for some reason walking with me all the way to Sandwich Saloon's door before he pulled that one open as well. Before I walked in, he leaned close, breath fanning my ear as he spoke in a whispered hiss. "You know what, I'm really starting to wish I _had _posted them. Because, and pardon my French, _you fucking deserve it_."

And well, I didn't really have anything to say back. Because the reason me and Puck managed to get along nicely most of the time was because he was pretty laid back- didn't get too angry, certainly didn't get sad, and most of the time was just his usual idiot self. But this… this was different. And not the good kind of different either.

The kind of different that made me want to pee on myself a bit.

He let go of the door and quite promptly walked away. It hit me in the back as it closed, forcing me to walk into the little restaurant, effectively cutting off any sort of response I had. I watched through the glass as he drove away.

Oops.

I turned back around, walking slowly to the counter, where Cleo was working the cash register. She raised an eyebrow at me as I slipped past her into the employee's room to put on my apron and tie my hair back. Of course, she followed me in, giving our fellow employee Marcus a sweet nudge towards the cash register. He gave her a confused head tilt, and so she shot him a sharp Cleo glare that clearly said 'take my spot until I get back and don't you dare whine about it.' He swallowed and quickly obeyed.

"Excuse me? Little Miss Viral?" she said as she walked in behind me. I groaned loudly.

"Don't even mention it. I'm going to die. As a matter of fact, I think I'm going to have to miss work today to plan my funeral."

She scoffed. "Oh stop being so dramatic. So what, your parents will see? My parents have seen me drunk plenty of times and done nothing about it!"

"That's because your parents could care less what you do with your life!" It was true. While Cleo's parents were easy-going and extremely lenient, mine were the strictest humans on this planet, which is why I had to plan a party behind their backs. Of course they wouldn't actually let me have a high school party if they had known about it. The alcohol on its own was bad enough.

Cleo shrugged. "Point taken. But seriously, just tell them you have come to terms your bad decision making and will work harder to be a good little Sabrina in the future and I'm sure they'll forgive you. I mean, it's the first even remotely rebellious thing you've ever done."

"You mean besides completely disobeying their trust, breaking the law, and almost ki-"

Almost kissing Puck. A kiss that I'm sure would've escalated quickly in my drunken state, what with the sudden desire I was feeling. First time having alcohol and I was already determined to never try it again. It made me stupider than normal, which was seriously not good, because wise decisions were already not my forte.

"Almost what?" Cleo asked carefully.

I shrugged. The last thing I needed was to tell Cleo about that. She would get heartbroken and betrayed faster than I could say it was an accident. So instead, I mentioned the other problem my night had led to.

"Almost killing Puck."

Her face was a healthy mixture of confusion and utter terror. "Almost _what_?"

I sighed deeply, dragging it out. "Well, you see, that little video we were talking about-"

Her hand flew to her mouth. "He posted it!"

I shrugged, and then shrugged again, and then raked my hand through my hair. "I don't know! It's certainly posted under _his _YouTube account, but when I mentioned it this morning he blew up like some Mentos-coke experiment, and now I'm just not sure what's going on anymore!"

She patted my arm sympathetically. "Don't worry, it'll all work itself out. Besides, I can't see Puck doing that."

"You can't see Puck doing anything besides being attractive or proposing to you," I said flatly.

"True. But that's not the point. It's just… whatever Sab. Hopefully this will all just work itself out. Don't make a small deal into a big one."

I nodded, and then she walked back out, so I finished tying my hair into a bun and followed her. I was in the middle of making a turkey and spinach sandwich when my phone vibrated in my pocket. Anxious that it was Puck, or my parents seeing the video, or maybe Daphne blackmailing me that she'd show it to them, I immediately announced my need for a bathroom break and scurried over to the restroom. Standing in a stall, I opened up my messages.

My heart dropped.

It was from NUMBER WITHHELD. And it was just one simple line.

"Leaked videos- not a good way to go down, is it? If only I could say I'm sorry."

My heart started beating rapidly as I looked around the bathroom, suddenly expecting someone to jump out. I looked at the previous message, the one telling me to be prepared, and it felt like something cold sunk into my stomach.

What the _hell _was going on?

* * *

**Second chapter yasss.**

**Sorry this one is significantly shorter than the first... i just had less to say and a good stopping point.**

**My third chapter is also finished, just needs editing and whatnot, so it should be up soon… soon as in much less than three months or so (like this time im sorry don't kill me im mad enough at my own slacking self).**

**ok, here's the next preview – and thanks for putting up with my ridiculousness!**

**-anniepear**

**Chapter 3…**

In which Sabrina takes a drive with her obsession (and her enemy), tries to fix problems with food, and gets a terrifyingly anticipated phone call.


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